


By the Light of the Full Moon

by lordmxrphy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6828130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordmxrphy/pseuds/lordmxrphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BFF prompt fill: “nerd and jock AU, in which Clarke is the jock and Bellamy is the nerd?” (+ werewolves!)</p>
<p>Clarke Griffin is Arkadia High’s golden girl. She’s captain of the soccer team and junior class representative. Their town’s very own princess. </p>
<p>Which is why Bellamy doesn't understand why no one else realizes that something is wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Light of the Full Moon

Bellamy’s not quite sure why he’s the one who notices something is off about Clarke Griffin. 

He’s known Clarke most of his life, but they’re not friends. They talk sometimes, in that idle way you do with people you’ve been in school with for years. They know each other, but they don’t _know_ each other. Their most consistent interaction is Bellamy sitting behind Clarke in AP European History while he tries not to get distracted by the gold in her hair and the flowers in her perfume.

But he’s always had a kind of awareness of Clarke. Ever since she poured a cup of red paint on Dax Stevens in the second grade because he made fun of the holes in Bellamy’s sneakers and his hand-me-down clothes.

That day, at recess, Bellamy and Clarke sequestered themselves in the top tower of the jungle gym, passing smiles back and forth along with Clarke’s markers. 

It was a good day. But, like often happens when you’re young, it was a flare of friendship, extinguished between one day and the next. The following day, Bellamy was back to spending recess in Miss Anya’s classroom, burying himself in books and losing himself in their adventures instead of making his own.

Now, at seventeen, Clarke Griffin is Arkadia High’s golden girl. She’s captain of the soccer team and junior class representative. Their town’s very own princess. 

Which is why Bellamy doesn't understand why no one else realizes that something is wrong. 

Clarke drops into her seat in front of him in fourth period with a sigh, making Bellamy look up from the thick tome on his desk. His glasses slide down his nose and he pushes them up with his thumb.

There are five minutes left until class starts but instead of spending them in the hallway chatting with her friends like she usually does, Clarke lays her head down on the desk and closes her eyes. The light filtering through the window outlines her profile, illuminating the dark circles under her eyes. She looks faded. Like someone scrubbed the color out of her. Even her hair looks dim. 

Bellamy glances at her between pages, frowning. Something’s off, but it’s not his place to ask so he stays silent.

After class, in the hallway, Bellamy sees Clarke smile when she catches sight of her friend. Bright as ever. Not a crack in her mask. Not a gap in her armor. 

And that fact alone makes Bellamy wonder how often Arkadia’s golden girl smiles without really meaning it.

...

Bellamy notices it in an off-hand way over the next couple of days: the grey that’s seeped into all the colors that are Clarke Griffin. He can’t figure out what’s behind the change and the mystery irks him. 

He’s at the public library where he works at part-time when he gets his first insight into the question Clarke Griffin poses. Equations blur on the page in front of him and Bellamy asks himself for the hundredth time why in the hell he thought taking AP Calculus was a good idea. 

Oh yeah, college. 

(Bellamy’s life is eclipsed by the almost all-consuming push toward college. College is the ticket he needs out of this town, away from his mom and her string of shitty boyfriends. It’s his way to finally give Octavia an out and maybe some hope that she could get the life she deserves—one that isn’t obscured by their mom’s drinking, asshole boyfriends, and a constant struggle to pay the bills. 

Bellamy isn’t planning to go far, just to the state university an hour outside of town. It’s far away enough that the distance will feel significant, but close enough that Octavia will be able to spend the weekends with him and Bellamy can drive home if she needs him to. 

But the local university in Ark is a good one, which means it won’t be easy getting in, let alone achieving the full-ride Bellamy needs. As a result, he’s been killing himself with the workload this year. He’s taking every AP course available and on top of that he’s working a part-time job at the library to help his mom with the bills. 

The only time Bellamy’s ever not working is when he’s hanging out in Monty’s basement, playing video games and listening to Monty and Jasper chatter incessantly, but he rarely gets to do even that.)

Bellamy’s just finished his first problem set when someone drops a stack of books on the desk in front of him with a loud thud.

Bellamy looks up, surprised to find Clarke’s steady blue eyes across the counter. 

Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, the strap of her bright orange sports bra poking out from underneath the collar of her shirt. Her cheeks are flushed and there are curls springing free around her forehead. She obviously came right from practice. 

“I’d like to check these out,” she tells him, placing her library card on top of the stack of books.

Bellamy glances at the stack and his eyebrows go up when he reads the titles on the spines. All the books are about magic and supernatural occurrences. Everything from mythology to what he’s pretty sure is a middle-grade fantasy book. When he looks back at Clarke, she’s staring at him. There’s a pucker between her brows and her mouth is set in a hard line, like she’s daring him to ask. 

He checks the books out for her without comment.

“Need a bag for these?” are the first words he says.

Clarke blinks in surprise but recovers quickly. Her shoulders drop as she releases the tension she must have been holding and the frown in her face eases into something grateful.

“No, I’m okay,” she says, dumping the stack into the gym bag by her feet and out of Bellamy’s line of sight.

He nods and watches Clarke leave without another word. 

As she pushes through the door, her shirt rides up and Bellamy catches sight of a swath of white gauze wrapped around her hip.

There is _definitely_ something going on with Clarke Griffin, and Bellamy’s going to figure out what it is.

...

It takes him three weeks, but Bellamy figures it out. 

He flips through every book she checks out and then follows that up with research on a handful of related websites. He becomes an expert in supernatural occurrences. But, the thing is, he doesn’t know most of her symptoms. Which is why it takes him until the day after the full moon to figure it all out.

That day, Clarke practically dances into fourth period. Where yesterday she was grey, today everything about her shouts color. Her hair is a brighter shade of blonde, her eyes are a more vibrant blue, and her smile is so white it could blind.

She’s wearing jean shorts, but her long sleeve shirt stands out among a sea of bare shoulders and tee shirts. It’s one of those spring days that’s hot and sunny like it took a page from full summer. Clarke meets Bellamy’s eyes when she walks down the row to her desk. She smiles at him, so wide he can see all her teeth. His heart jumps even as his brow furrows.

Clarke’s sneakers are pearly white, but there’s mud on her ankles, dried and flaking off above her socks. When she pulls her notebook out of her backpack, Bellamy catches sight of an angry red line beneath her sleeve and that’s when he puts it all together. Last night, there was a full and fat moon outside his bedroom window. 

Bellamy sucks in a harsh breath and Clarke’s head snaps up. 

_Clarke Griffin is a werewolf._

Bellamy stares at the book on his desk, but he can feel his heartbeat in his ears. Luckily, when the teacher starts the class, Clarke turns back around in her seat, tearing her eyes from Bellamy, but not before shooting him a curious glance over her shoulder. 

Bellamy wonders if she can hear the frantic pace of his heart.

...

Bellamy had hoped that after solving the mystery she posed, his newfound interest in Clarke would wane. She had been a question mark, an unknown variable. Once he solved her riddle, the tug towards her would fade. But, for some reason, that doesn’t prove true. 

At lunch, Monty has to say his name three times before he gets Bellamy’s attention.

“Dude, you’re staring.”

“What?”

“At Clarke. You were staring at Clarke,” Monty says slowly. “You okay?”

Bellamy rubs his eyes beneath his glasses, trying to dispel the trailing questions. He’s being ridiculous and he knows it. But, not a moment later, his eyes slide back over to the table where Clarke’s sitting beside Raven (soccer team), tossing a grape so that Miller (hockey team) can catch it in his mouth.

It takes Bellamy too long to realize Monty’s still watching him curiously, waiting for an answer to his question.

“Sorry, yeah, I’m fine,” he says. 

His answer doesn’t fool either one of them. 

...

He hates it, but instead of disappearing from his focus, Clarke starts to occupy more and more of his thoughts. He notices how she brings her friend, Wells, coffee in the mornings. He catches sight of her talking softly to one of the freshman on the soccer team who has tears streaming down her face. 

Bellamy becomes stupidly aware of Clarke Griffin. How much she cares about her friends. How hard she works. The time and effort she puts into absolutely everything she does. 

(Clarke Griffin is made of gold and, surely, Bellamy wasn’t made to handle precious substances.)

It doesn’t help that Clarke seems to be more aware of Bellamy lately too. She smiles at him in the hallway when she catches his eyes. She asks him about his day before class starts and doodles in the margins of his page while he answers. 

She starts to creep into every corner of his thoughts. No longer a mystery, but still a question.

… 

Three weeks pass in a muddle of classwork and unwelcome thoughts about floral shampoo and blue eyes. 

There’s a week until the next full moon when Bellamy notices Clarke start to fade again. Light and energy bleach out of her movements. 

Bellamy’s not quite sure why he does it, but when Clarke falls asleep in History, he finds a recipe on one of the more reliable websites he found and decides to try his hand at potion-making. 

Clarke looks up when Bellamy sets the bottle full of murky grey liquid on her desk the next day. She raises an eyebrow and an amused smile pulls at the corner of her mouth, but she doesn’t seem fazed. 

Bellamy thinks that her life is must be pretty weird if a bottle of questionable liquid from an almost-stranger doesn’t seem out of the ordinary to her.

“What’s this?” she asks, wrapping a hand around the bottle.

The classroom is empty aside from them, but other students will be coming in soon, so Bellamy gets right to the point.

“It’s a moon remedy. It has some wolfsbane in it. It’s supposed to help with your energy leading up to the full moon and make the shift easier when you turn,” Bellamy states, matter-of-fact.

He walks by Clarke and settles behind his desk, pulling a book from his bag. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Clarke stare at the bottle for a few beats, mouth open, one hand clenched around the seat of her chair.

“I don’t—”

Bellamy fiddles with his glasses and runs a hand through his hair.

“I know it’s weird, but I think it’ll help, okay?”

Clarke shoots him a look before unscrewing the cap and sniffing the liquid hesitantly. She wrinkles her nose and Bellamy swallows the laugh that bubbles up in his throat. 

“What did you expect? Roses?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but doesn’t bother with a reply. 

Bellamy watches Clarke takes a small sip of the drink. Then a gulp. She finishes the bottle quickly, looking brighter and better already.

She turns around in her seat and her smile almost stops his heart.

“How did you—” she starts, cutting herself off when a group of students comes into the classroom. 

She turns back around when her friend, Luna, settles into the seat beside her, prattling on about the upcoming game, but she shoots Bellamy a glance over her shoulder and he knows this isn’t the end of it.

Clarke catches Bellamy by his locker after school. He's piling textbooks into his backpack when she leans against the locker beside his.

“How did you know?” she asks.

Bellamy looks over his shoulder and finds the rest of the hallway empty. 

“That you're a werewolf or how to mix a moon potion?” 

“Both.”

Bellamy’s gaze flits up to Clarke. She’s changed out of her jeans into shorts for practice and he pointedly ignores her long, tan legs. He can’t read the look on her face. 

“One of the books you checked out of the library mentioned lycanthropy, it wasn’t hard to figure out… and, um, I googled the remedy thing. Figured I’d see if I could help.”

He stands up and slings his backpack over his shoulder. He turns to face Clarke and his mind goes blank when she grabs his hand. Her warm fingers press into his palm for a long beat before she lets go.

“Thank you,” she whispers. Clarke’s eyes are soft, full of a feeling Bellamy’s never seen on her, “You didn’t need to do that, but it helped.”

Clarke bites her lip and her gaze drops to the locker, away from his eyes.

“It’s been hard… dealing with all of this alone.”

“Anytime,” Bellamy rasps. He clears his throat. 

Clarke smiles and it’s a quiet kind of peace. Her smile reminds him of sunshine filtering through water. Light breaking across a weathered ocean. 

He doesn’t really know her, but Clarke smiles and all Bellamy can think of is a safe harbor.

…

That night, Bellamy makes another batch of the moon potion. He sets the bottle on Clarke’s desk the next day. 

This time, Clarke just smiles her thanks and drinks the potion without complaint.

At lunch, she slides into the seat beside Bellamy in the cafeteria. Monty pauses with his mouth open and sandwich halfway to his mouth and Jasper grabs Monty’s arm, his knuckles turning white. 

It takes Bellamy a couple moments to regain his composure, but Clarke just looks over at him and cocks an eyebrow.

“Problem?”

He snaps out of his stupor and swallows a smile as he turns back to his own lunch.

“Not at all.” 

Raven and Miller shoot Clarke questioning looks when they see where she’s sitting, but they join her anyway. 

Conversation is awkward at first, stilted, but Clarke and Monty ease the way with the familiar discussion of classes and teachers. After ten minutes, Raven, Monty, and Jasper have slipped into a heated debate about the new Star Wars movie. Miller chimes in to agree with Monty, shooting the other boy a smile, something Bellamy has never seen the hockey player do. 

It’s bizarre, but, somehow, the friend groups fit. 

He looks over when he feels Clarke’s eyes on him and grins in response to her smile. 

He slides into friendship with Clarke like it was always there.

… 

Bellamy almost forgets her secret. It’s there, but beneath the surface. She never brings it up, so neither does he.

He’s reminded when he goes to one of her soccer games. On the field, he sees the way Clarke pulls herself back. How she has to stop herself from running _too_ fast—from kicking the ball _too_ hard.

Bellamy’s stomach drops when one of the players on the opposing team throws an elbow into Clarke’s face, connecting with her nose.

He’s too far away to hear the crunch, but he watches Clarke catch herself on the grass field. He doesn’t think anyone else notices, but Bellamy sees the way her fingers dig into the grass. Most people will probably attribute the fact that she doesn’t get up right away to pain, but Bellamy knows better. 

Her coach pulls her off the field and someone hands her an ice pack, but Bellamy can see the way Clarke’s not quite right. She turns her head towards the ground and won’t look in the direction of any of her teammates.

He tells Miller he’s going to check on Clarke and Miller nods, solemn. (Miller only seems to smile at Monty.)

Clarke looks up when Bellamy’s feet reach the last step of the bleachers. She meets him on the sideline of the field. As far away from everyone else as they can get. It’s not privacy, but the crowd is focused on the game and it’s all they’ve got.

Blood is drying on her chin, and when Bellamy meets her gaze he sees that her irises are yellow. Feral. One of her hands is curled in a tight fist around the ice pack and the other is in a ball by her side. Her breaths are uneven and Bellamy knows immediately that she’s doing everything she can not to lose control.

He doesn’t know what do, so he follows his instincts and wraps a hand around the tight fist hanging at her side. With this other hand, he gently pulls the ice pack from her face. He doesn’t balk when he sees her elongated fangs digging into her bottom lip.

He wipes at the blood on her chin with the pad of his thumb and keeps his eyes firmly set on hers. 

Beneath his fingers, Bellamy feels Clarke’s pulse slow. Her hand relaxes in his. 

Clarke laces her fingers with Bellamy’s as her eyes return to their usual shade of blue.

She takes a shaky breath and Bellamy knows she’s about to thank him, so he speaks before she can.

“Please go kick this team’s ass.”

Clarke smiles, canines still slightly too long. She squeezes Bellamy’s fingers before letting go and goes to do just that.

… 

It’s the morning after a full moon and Bellamy’s in the kitchen, half-asleep, glasses low on his nose, waiting for the coffeemaker to finish, and getting cereal ready for Octavia when he hears a loud shriek followed by Octavia’s feet fast on the stairs. 

He nearly spills the milk on the counter in his haste to set it down, but he catches the carton at the last second and steadies it before rushing out into the hall. 

There, he finds the front door to their house wide open. Bellamy watches, stunned, as his sister wraps the blanket they usually keep on the couch around Clarke’s shoulders. 

Clarke Griffin is on his lawn. Naked. 

It takes Bellamy a moment to piece together his thoughts. By the time he does, Clarke is standing in his living room, red-cheeked and wild. There are leaves caught in her hair and dirt smeared across her face and down her neck. 

Bellamy recovers himself and steps forward, scanning Clarke for cuts and bruises. 

“Clarke, are you okay?” 

She swallows and Bellamy stops himself from following the motion down her throat to the where she’s holding blanket tightly around herself.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I, um, I didn’t mean to end up here, but…” Clarke pauses and shoots a glance at Octavia, who’s still standing by the door, watching them with open interest.

“ O, why don’t you go get some breakfast?” Bellamy asks.

“No way, big brother, you’re not keeping my out of this. I found her.”

(Sometimes, having a twelve-year-old for a sister can be a real pain in the ass.)

Clarke looks at Bellamy, lost. Octavia notices the look and huffs.

“Fine, I’ll be in the kitchen. But,” she says pointing a finger at her brother, looking far more fierce than any seventh grader has any right to be, “I expect an explanation if you don’t want me to tell mom I found a naked girl you know in our front yard this morning.”

With that, Octavia pushes into the kitchen, the door swing shut with a bang behind her.

Clarke barks a laugh, the sound hollow with disbelief.

“Wow, she’s something else.”

“That’s Octavia for you.” Bellamy rubs the back of his neck. “Um, seriously, Clarke, are you okay? Did—did something happen last night?”

Clarke clears her throat. “Not really.” She lowers her voice despite the fact that now it’s just them two. “I—I still don’t have a lot of control when I turn. The potion you give me helps with the pain of the transition, but the shift can be overwhelming. Senses become stronger and, uh, so do urges.” She stares at her muddy toes. “And last night, I really wanted to be near you.” 

Bellamy stares, unsure how to process this information. Butterflies wake up in his belly. He swallows hard, suddenly extremely aware of the fact that there’s only a blanket between him and all of Clarke’s naked skin.

It’s with that thought that it occurs to Bellamy how uncomfortable Clarke must be right now standing in his living room in nothing but a threadbare blanket.

He clears his throat. “My mom probably has some clothes that would fit you if you want something to put on.”

Clarke smiles at him softly. A wish whispers at the back of Bellamy’s brain.

She bites her cheek before answering, “Um, would it be okay if I took a shower too? I can’t go home looking like…” She gestures at herself with her chin. “...this.”

Bellamy feels heat creep up his neck, but he manages to keep his voice even. “Sure. I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

He leads Clarke up the stairs to the bathroom he shares with Octavia. He grabs a towel from the linen closet, but his mom’s bedroom door is locked, so Bellamy grabs a pair of his own sweatpants and a t-shirt and puts them on top of the towel before knocking on the bathroom door lightly. 

He loses his breath when Clarke answers, blanket low on her shoulders. He swallows, confronted by so much bare skin, and Clarke smirks. Bellamy’s cheeks go hot when realizes his gaze wasn’t subtle. He shoves the pile of fabric into her hands and takes a step back, nearly tripping on the carpet. 

He’s already halfway down the stairs when the bathroom door clicks shut.

In the kitchen, he finds Octavia sitting on the counter, a bowl of cereal in her lap.

She doesn’t pull her punches.

“So, what’s the deal?”

Bellamy never lies to his sister, but it’s not his place to share this secret. Instead, Bellamy settles on getting as close as he can to the truth.

“Clarke’s a friend from school. She, uh, she had a bit of weird night so I’m letting her take a shower here and get changed.” He pauses before adding, “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to mom.”

Octavia rolls her eyes. “Of course I won’t say anything. I wasn’t being serious earlier. But, um… I do hope everything’s okay with Clarke. If her family situation is bad or something, she can sleep in my room. I don’t mind.”

Bellamy feels a surge of fondness for his sister. He ruffles her hair and presses a kiss to the crown of her head. Octavia squirms, but doesn’t try to pull away.

“Thanks, O, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m pretty sure Clarke’s okay now.”

“Well, good.” Octavia jumps down from the counter and puts her bowl in the dishwasher. 

Bellamy mutters a curse when he catches sight of the clock on the oven and realizes they’re running late. The next few minutes become a scramble. Octavia snatches her backpack from one of the kitchen chairs and trips into the hall to pull on her shoes while Bellamy finishes packing her lunch. He barely gets the brown bag into Octavia’s hand before she’s rushing out the door.

Bellamy watches from the front door as Octavia dashes down their street to the bus stop. They live in a weird, remote area because their mom managed to find a house here for a good price. But, this morning, he guesses they’re lucky they don’t have to contend with the prying eyes of neighbors, even if it does mean that Octavia has to walk a little ways to get to the bus stop. 

Octavia turns the corner and disappears from view and a few moments later, Bellamy hears the shower upstairs cut off.

At this point, Bellamy’s already resigned himself to missing at least his first few classes. It doesn’t really matter since he doesn’t have any tests or quizzes today and he can get the notes from a classmate. Not to mention most of his teachers love him. 

He can afford to skip today of all days.

Bellamy finally has a cup of coffee in his hands when Clarke comes down the stairs and he nearly burns his tongue when he sees her.

Clarke’s hair is wet and Bellamy’s sweatpants swamp her. She’s rolled up the legs three or four times just so she could walk. The tee shirt hangs loose and baggy on her frame, and through it all, she looks beautiful. Bright. She smiles and Bellamy’s lost.

“Got any more of that coffee?” she asks, hesitant.

He grabs a mug and pours Clarke a cup. 

When he hands her the mug, their fingers brush and tension ties a knot in Bellamy’s belly. He notices how close they are, barely a foot of space between them. 

Bellamy looks up and finds Clarke’s eyes already on him. The world fades to a buzz in his ears. The look in Clarke’s eyes is open curiosity. It’s hoping to unearth treasure on a beach—finding a map to neverland.

Clarke looks at Bellamy like she wants to discover him.

Her mug clinks against the counter when she sets it down. Bellamy steps into her space and sets his mug beside hers. Clarke’s gaze falls to his lips when he licks them. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. 

Bellamy leans down, Clarke tilts her head up, and, then, they’re kissing. 

Clarke sighs when Bellamy’s hand comes up to catch her jaw. She tastes like earth, like sunlight. She smells like his shampoo, and, impossibly, of violets. She chases his mouth. Her kiss is firm pressure and chapped lips. 

When her tongue slides against his, it turns into a tug of war. A conversation and an exchange of power. Clarke’s hand finds Bellamy's hip and her fingers skim the sliver of skin exposed at the bottom of his shirt. Bellamy stutters when it slides beneath his shirt. Her fingernails dig lightly into his shoulder blades. 

The kiss turns dirty and Bellamy backs Clarke up so that his hips press her into the counter. She bites his bottom lip, but when the tang of blood mixes with their kiss, she pulls away sharply. 

“Shit, Bellamy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bite you that hard.”

“Clarke, Clarke,” Bellamy breathes, running his thumb across her cheekbone. His forehead falls to meet hers. “It’s okay.”

He kisses her again, softly this time and Clarke relaxes against him. 

The next time they pull away, there’s only the tick of a clock, the breeze against the window, and the sound of their own breaths. 

Bellamy can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.

“What?” Clarke asks, breathless.

“Nothing, I just never thought I’d ever be kissing Clarke Griffin in my kitchen.”

Clarke snorts and shoves him lightly. She presses a kiss to the bottom of his jaw.

“Yeah, well, Bellamy Blake, weirder things have happened.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes, you just gotta write a werewolf au, you know? I hope you guys liked it! Let me know in the comments if you did.
> 
> p.s. you can come watch me cry about fictional characters or send me a prompt on [my tumblr](http://antebellamy.tumblr.com/) :)


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